Despite it being physically impossible to be in every corner of the Dunes at once, Maslakhat still made an effort to keep privy to the goings on within these borders as much as he was able. The Sons of Mira were prolific, collecting wives and expanding their numbers significantly with each passing week. He did not mind, so long as they remained understanding that they all graced these sands by virtue of his good will. Snorting, he sighted another soul trotting lightly over the sands. He pointed his long nose in her direction, following her movement with his dark eyes.

Her white tail immediately made him think of Kore, but this mare was not an Arabian—she was of his people, an Akhal-Teke. She stopped almost suddenly, and Maslakhat made his move. The golden bay Akhal-Teke swooped down from his lookout spot, swiftly approaching the girl with his head high and tail flagged—a banner of his pride in keeping company with only those of equal worth.

He nickered, low and mellow as he approached—a basic but welcoming greeting, his eyes following the white marks from the underside of the mare’s face until his gaze met her own—clouded and sightless.

“Buradasınız,” he said, his voice low and barely above a whisper.

He recalled meeting the rose grey mare some time ago, and her mention of a sightless oracle of their people. The mare certainly fit this description, but he was hesitant to inquire of her connection so quickly. Better to bide his time to determine her motivations, if such a thing were even possible.


MASLAKHAT

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